


pride & proposals

by anniebibananie (alindy)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Pride and Prejudice Feel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 11:18:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11184015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alindy/pseuds/anniebibananie
Summary: Bellamy Blake is essentially the last person she would ever consider to marry, but after the fallout of her previous engagement, her options are slim. The least she can do for her mother is give him a chance.





	pride & proposals

**Author's Note:**

> This is for @hansolo-ing on tumblr who won first place in my fanfic giveaway! Warning, I did minimal research for this fic so history buffs I apologize in advance.

**now**

“I refuse.” Clarke’s eyes remained on her page, back poised straight and head tilted, still composed. She brought a finger to her lip, licking it and turning the page. 

“Clarke, you cannot simply refuse _. _ ” Abby sat in the chair across the drawing room from her, a cup of tea poised in her palm. Her demeanor retained the detached, diplomatic appearance Clarke knew of her mother. 

She could count the number of times she had seen her mother upset,  _ truly  _ upset, on a singular hand. Her father’s death. When Clarke caught pneumonia and played with the edge of death. The day Clarke’s engagement fell apart and exploded, the collateral damage piercing the lives around her.   

“You lack options,” she continued. “If you ever want to experience a life outside of the bounds of this home, then you need to consider it. Your options are growing slimmer by the day.”

Finally, Clarke looked up from the book, slipping a bookmark between the pages and snapping it shut. “And what if I feel no need to leave the confines of this home? Marriage is not a prerequisite to happiness.”

Abby sighed. “I know you are happy with the way your life is, but I can promise you will feel regret if you skip this step in life. Being stuck here forever will not keep you happy.”

Clarke tilted her head, quirking an eyebrow. “Did you never want more?” At first, she had expected her voice to sound harsh, but in the end it had actually just come out curious, soft. She tried to imagine her mother in a life separate then the one in which she lived. Before her father, a young girl with a love for medical texts and a whip smart wit. 

It left her feeling sad about the woman across from her in her sharp corset, with the piles of embroidered rings and pillows that adorned their house. 

Abby finally sipped from her tea. The porcelain of the cup clacked against the saucer. “Just entertain the idea. Please? Bellamy Blake would be a fine suitor.” 

It was the please that did it. Clarke picked up her book, shuffling through the pages back to her spot. “Well, alright. All I can promise is to entertain it.” 

“Thank you.” Abby nodded. “That is all I can ask for.”

* * *

Clarke knew Bellamy Blake in the detached sort of way she knew many people. The majority of her time outside of her own home was spent with the Jahas, who owned a plot of land close enough to ride to on horse easily enough. Now that Wells was engaged to Maya, she didn’t spend quite as much time with him; though, she did find herself slipping into an easy friendship with the other girl. Genuinely, she enjoyed their company.

Raven was hard to see now that she was married and living up north, and Jasper and Monty lived far enough away to make the trek to visit difficult. Having one of her best friends gone away and married was hard, but Clarke had tried to learn to cope. It would be nice if at least Jasper and Monty were closer for a source of distraction, but she was simply not lucky enough for that. 

As far as she knew Bellamy Blake? He had moved in with Marcus Kane after a series of unfortunate events when he was eight years old, and since then he had mostly slipped into the life he was meant to live in those circumstances without too much struggle. Despite the Kane family having close ties with the Griffins, Clarke was lucky enough not to have to deal with him that frequently. 

“Miss Griffin,” he said. 

Clarke hadn’t heard his approach from her place near the wall as she searched through the Jaha’s library. She hadn’t even known he was there. She was  _ technically _ spending time with Maya and Wells while her mother discussed the ball at the end of the month with Thelonious, but she offered to cover for them so they could have some alone time which had become increasingly difficult for them to find. 

She turned, giving a slight curtsy. “Mr. Blake.” 

“Your mother and Marcus certainly have some… thoughts about us. Have you heard?” 

It was rather forward, Clarke noted. She wasn’t sure if she appreciated his boldness or found it disconcerting. He stepped up toward the bookshelf beside her, trailing through titles. Scanning a gaze over his features, she assessed him like she had never bothered to before. 

His dark hair was slicked back, and his clothing was impeccably clean. The most rebellious thing about him seemed to be the trailing of freckles over the bridge of his nose. They seemed to resist the perfectly manicured appearance of him, flying and running every which way. Clarke liked that they disrupted the image; finally, she had one thing to like about him. 

It wasn’t that Bellamy was horrible (and, after an examination, certainly not horrible  _ looking _ ), but he was simply too contrary for Clarke’s taste. He thought he knew the world due to his education and readings and didn’t bother to think someone else might know something different. He fought her in a haughty tone, never relenting. 

The only time she had seen him particularly soft was when his younger sister had visited for a short stay. Which, in all honesty, was pretty remarkable considering Clarke had not much  _ liked  _ the younger Blake. Besides for that, Bellamy was essentially a tornado who tore through crowds and conversations. 

Wells told her it bothered her so much because she was the same, but she usually ignored him. 

“My mother mentioned some things. Yes.” Clarke pulled out a thick tome, not caring much for what the title was. Slipping it under her arm, she moved her way to the couch and sat. 

They should not be in here alone, she remembered. This was distinctly inappropriate. Worse was the idea that both of their parents wanted them to consider  _ engagement.  _ At least Bellamy sat on the chair across from her, not close by her side on the couch. Some distinction was, gladly, retained. 

“Yet, you refrain from yelling at me? Declaring your dislike to the heavens?”

Despite realizing it’s unladylike nature, Clarke rolled her eyes. Even more rebelliously, she made sure he noticed. “If we are being honest, I was not under the impression you liked me any more than I like you, Mr. Blake. You would gladly consider the engagement?”

The left side of his mouth tilted up into the smirk Clarke had known was hiding underneath. This, too, set her on edge. That smugness. That superiority. She was certain she could never live with it for the rest of her life, even if she had told her mother she would entertain the idea. 

“Mr. Kane has changed my life,” he said. The gratitude was clear in his voice. 

It was hard to remember that Bellamy was not born from circumstances like Clarke, mostly because he played the role so well. He may have spent the majority of his life in the Kane household, learning the ways of higher class life and educating himself with every text and material he could get his hands on, but he had been born from the dirt. Almost literally. It was a series of happy circumstance after unimaginable tragedy that had landed him the Kane heir. 

“Why does Mr. Kane think it such a good idea?” she asked. 

His eyes flicked back up to hers from where they had landed on the ground. While a moment ago he had looked briefly bashful, his confidence slipped back over him as comfortable as a well worn coat. “Certainly you must know. I thought you superior enough in your intellect to decipher how advantageous a marriage between us could be.”  

It was one thing to discuss the possibility with her mother or play around the word, but suddenly hearing  _ marriage  _ come out of Bellamy’s mouth was a shock to her system. It wasn’t simply hypothetical. It wasn’t a joke. It was something that would affect the rest of their lives. Clarke would have no escape, their lives tied together in an inseparable manner. 

She brushed a loose hair out of her eyeline. “I can see its advantages for you. My own are a bit foggier.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “No? You have forgotten about your dealings with Mr. Azgeda?”

That was all she needed to hop to her own feet, heading for the door. Decorum be  _ screwed _ . Her stomach churned sour, but she couldn’t keep herself walking away. She whipped around, shooting him a look. “Must you always be so crass?” 

“Must  _ you  _ always look down on me?” he questioned, stepping up and forward. “Is the idea of marriage to me that similar to marrying scum beneath your feet?”

“Marrying you is not difficult because I think of you as scum,” she said. Her body always felt electrified in their tiffs, but this was more than a tiff. This was a fight—anger coursing through her limbs and her hair, crackling around her. “It is  _ difficult _ because your personality leaves much to be desired. You are always so  _ contrary _ .”

His mouth opened up, and Clarke craved the fire that would leave his mouth. Her heart beat as she paused expectantly. The words never came, instead he snapped his lips shut with finality and gave a minor bow. 

“Good day, Miss Griffin.”   


She curtsied again, not bothering to utter his name before storming out. Marriage. She could not even believe she had entertained it for a minute. 

* * *

**then**

Mr. Collins had the sort of boyish good looks that Clarke had never found herself that interested in, and, most importantly, the sort of attitude she generally found irritating. He knew he had the world rigged for him, and yet continued to expect more from it. Things came as easily to him as breathing, and while she couldn’t fault him for his own luck, she could fault him for his attitude regarding it. 

“I cannot deny I find you rather intriguing, Miss Griffin,” he had said one day when they passed one another in town. He had dropped his own agenda, hopping onto her own shopping expedition. 

She looked pleadingly toward Wells, but he was oblivious from his place in front of her. 

“What a compliment,” she tried, yet it fell flat. She eyed him, but he didn’t seem to notice. It made her feel even more disinterested. 

“Miss Griffin,” came a rough, low voice from behind. She couldn’t quite place it until she turned her head, spying Roan Azgeda jogging over in a dignified manner. “I hate to interrupt, Mr. Collins, but I had been hoping to have a moment to chat with Miss Griffin. Our mothers are planning a tea, and we have some particulars to discuss.”

Mr. Collins nodded and gave a brief goodbye before going on his way regretfully. 

“My savior,” she declared. “I am forever in your debt, Mr. Azgeda.”

His hair was on the longer side, pulled back into a ponytail at his nape, and his face was constantly fixed in the sort of disinterested, passive look his mother had taught him from a young age. Clarke knew him more from a distance than anything else—his family was beyond wealthy, and his mother a patron to several notable professionals—but they had met from time to time at gatherings. They had always gotten along due to their civility and similar upbringings, both understanding the burden of strong mother figures and a life of expectations thrust upon them. 

“It was apparent to anyone but Mr. Collins himself how you felt,” he said. “I am glad to have been of service.”

“He struggles rather largely with reading my feelings it would seem.” She sighed as they continued to stroll. Wells and Maya walked several feet in front of her, while her mother and Thelonius were in front of them. Now that Maya was a part of their lives, Clarke had become the odd one out more frequently than she much liked. “Not for lack of trying to make them clear, however.”

Roan’s face split into a small smile, and she couldn’t help but smile too. It was strange to see the gesture on his face, but not unwelcome. “Would you mind if I joined you all to the general store? I have some things to pick up myself.”

“Are you living around here now?” she asked. 

“For the time being, yes.” He nodded. “You did, Miss Griffin, miss the question.”

“I thought the answer was clear as day,” she said, smiling jokingly at him. “Of course, Mr. Azgeda.”

The smile played at his lips again. “Thank you.”

* * *

**now**

Maya played a card, smiling sweetly to herself at the move. “Do you truly think that way of him? He thinks highly of you.”

“Mr. Blake thinks no such thing of me,” Clarke responded eerily quickly. “His feelings are quite apparent.”

“And yet he contemplated marriage more certainly than you did.” Wells shuffled through his cards, looking up past them to raise an eyebrow in her direction. When she shot him a sour look, he merely shrugged. “I am simply saying, there is always more to someone than the outer appearance. You know I am always on your side, but you do hop to assumptions, do you not?”

“I do, but my assumptions aren’t always  _ wrong, _ ” she said. Her hand of cards was rather poor, and she found herself itching to do anything else. Maybe sketch.  _ Maybe  _ if she could talk them into it, she could get them to sit for a portrait after this game. “You almost make it sound like he has feelings for me, which I can assure you he does not.”

“That was not what I meant,” Wells said. “I think you might give him more of a chance. He could surprise you. You might even surprise yourself.”

Clarke grumbled, placing down a card annoyingly. “That would be difficult.”

* * *

Dinner parties always lasted far too long for Clarke’s tastes. It meant sitting through course after course and shifting through meaningless conversations with no end. Very rarely did she get to talk about what she actually  _ wanted  _ to talk about, and even then she was frequently forced to keep her mouth shut.

This one felt infinite. Even more so because Bellamy Blake sat right across from her. A month ago and she wouldn’t have even cared, but that had been before the contemplation of an engagement had been thrown into the discussion. That had been before she had to think about what being married to Bellamy Blake would be like. 

His eyes shifted everywhere but her face, which was endlessly frustrating. She just wanted to make eye contact, see what he would feel. A part of her knew she had been harsh the last time they spoke, but he had been cruel back. It had been a game they always played, but this time she had been forced to change the rules. 

When the final course had finally been lifted from the table and they made their way up to go have a post-meal drink, Clarke was relieved to finally get an opportunity to speak to Bellamy. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted to say, but she knew she needed to be close to him again. 

“Mr. Blake,” she said as she sidled up beside him. 

He looked curiously down at her, like he was surprised she had wanted to speak. “Miss Griffin. Did you enjoy dinner?”

“It was delightful,” she answered. The two halted in stifling silence for a moment, the only ease from the pain of it being their moving feet as they went up the stairs. Marcus and Abby were luckily far enough ahead they were left from earshot. “I wanted to apologize for our previous conversation.”

“You are a dog with its tail between its legs,” he said. “I don’t like it.” 

Clarke felt anger filling in her stomach before she eyed his face, the calm planes of it. His eyes were kind, joking even, and she realized that he didn’t mean it in an insulting way. He was trying to be kind with her. 

“You prefer me when I’m fiery?” she asked. 

He shrugged, his lip tilting at the edge. “You don’t need to apologize when I am clearly at more fault than you. It’s none of my business what happened between Mr. Azgeda and yourself. It was rude to push.” 

The thought rattled in her head. Truthfully, there were days when she missed Roan, and others she was glad he was gone. She had never relived what had happened between them out loud, not even to Wells. The secret was one planted firmly in only her own garden. 

“Would you like to know someday? Potentially?” She worked her bottom lip between her teeth, letting it go when she realized how nervous it must make her appear. “If we might end up engaged, it would be nice to be honest.”

“You still think of engagement as on the table?” he asked, genuinely surprised. She tried to read how that made him feel. Was he excited? Relieved? Terrified? She tried to read how it made  _ her  _ feel, but her own feelings were as foreign to her as his. 

His shoulders looked so broad in his coat. For a moment, she wondered what he would look like if he simply shed it. What would he look like relaxed? Without worry about social expectations and conventions. There were times Clarke felt like she didn’t  _ truly  _ know anyone at all, not the way society forced them into coats that never truly fit. 

She had known Raven like that. Same with Roan. Now they were both gone, and Clarke was left with empty hands and an idle mind.

“The power is in your hands, Mr. Blake. I would hope for friendship first, as I wouldn’t much like living the rest of my life with someone I couldn’t stand.” The two of them paused outside of the study, knowing the conversation wasn’t able to spill into the room with their parents. “I cannot help but wonder, however, if you have never thought of love. Surely you wish to marry someone else?”

He shrugged, but his face looked glazed over briefly after. “I never really thought I would marry at all. Though, I do like the idea of a family. Of having a companion and someday, children to pass things onto.” He paused, meeting her eyes. She was struck by how deep they appeared. “The poor do not get love, Miss Griffin, and I may look like an elite, but poor still sits in my heart.”

The honesty struck her, and she gave him a sad smile in return. “I am not entirely sure the rich get love either.”

* * *

**then**

“Can we speak frankly, Miss Griffin?”

Clarke took a moment to collect herself for what was to come, but also control her curiosity. For all intents and purposes, the two of them frequently spoke honestly. They had spent enough time with one another over the last few months to know there was no use in outdated formality. She knew he respected her without needing to be shown it, and he appreciated her ability to use her wit and opinion without feeling the need to hide behind the expected. 

“Always. Though if we insist on frankness, I would hope you would simply use my name, Roan.”

He nodded, though he didn’t speak for a moment. The two walked around the gardens of the Griffin estate in relative silence as the sun shown heavily down on their necks. “I think it may be practical for us to get married.”

That was not at all what Clarke had expected to come from his mouth. Her feet froze to the ground, and she turned toward him. His face looked as natural as if he had proposed walking down to the river or having tea. “Apologies, but… is this a proposal?” 

“Yes.” Again, he nodded. His face wasn’t the joking, lighter version she had grown accustomed to during their discussions, but instead the mask of civility he used on those he was forced to impress. “It would make sense. The Griffins and the Azgedas coming together in union. We could offer each other a lot.”

Clarke tilted her head. “You’re not proposing out of love?” 

“I propose out of friendship.” His face lightened then back into something closer to the Roan she was familiar with. “I never thought you one much for love, Clarke. I certainly have never been optimistic enough to hope for it either. In marriage, I could offer you freedom and space to do with what you wish. You would offer me the same. We get along well.”

“Would your mother approve?” she joked. Her head still whirred with all he said, but she needed to be on more familiar, comfortable ground. Everything he said made sense, certainly  _ too  _ much sense. 

“My mother understands the advantages,” he said. “Yet, I cannot deny the joy it brings me to know she is frustrated by your strong will and quick wit.”

A laugh ripped from her throat, loud and boisterous. She really had never planned much on love. Being more optimistic than Roan, she had hoped for it when she allowed herself to indulge, but her age was winding upward. The men who sought her were too restricted, too old-fashioned, and certainly not of the caliber of him. This was the best she could do, she realized. 

“I accept,” she said. She could be happy with Roan, she knew. Much the way he could be happy with her. 

* * *

**now**

Bellamy and Clarke still didn’t necessarily like each other all the time, but they  _ were _ trying to get to know one another better. Marcus and Abby had been pushing the concept of marriage more profusely, layering it on in every conversation. Marcus continually spoke of how unlikely it was to find a better match than Miss Griffin. Abby knew Clarke’s prospects were surprisingly low. 

It would be a marriage out of convenience, but Clarke had contemplated it before. 

For all her talk of freedom and choice, of making decisions based on her own feelings and thoughts as opposed to the restrictions the world wished to put upon her, she couldn’t deny she agreed with Bellamy. The advantages of marriage were appealing over the chance of living under the roof of an unwilling relative the rest of her life. 

Being single for him was much easier than for her, and she had seen relatives struggle with the way unmarried women were shoved to the side like rotting fruit. She was a pig at the fair for their last season, prettied up with a bow; if she didn’t get the ribbon now she never would. 

So, she considered the engagement even if it set her teeth on edge to agree so easily with her mother. Even if it meant spending the time to get to know Bellamy. 

It was a surprise her feelings shifted so quickly from hatred to like. 

“Do you remember much from before?” Clarke asked in a moment of daring. 

His face hardened, and she was certain he was going to escape back into the safety of his armor. It had taken a few outings where they attempted to familiarize themselves with each other for them to even get to this point. 

Clarke was grateful, but frankly surprised, her mother let her have so much lenience with Bellamy. Clearly, her mother was even more desperate than she could have anticipated, hoping the little taste of space and freedom would get her to agree to the engagement. Hoping they could forge some sort of connection. It wasn’t love, but it might be able to transition into  _ something,  _ a fragile friendship maybe. 

Bellamy carded a hand through his hair, setting the black strands a little off kilter. “I remember some things,” he said. 

She wasn’t sure if he was going to continue or not, but she didn’t want to push. They had been working on an important equilibrium, pushing back and forth still but making sure not to push  _ too  _ hard. They were balancing themselves. 

“It wasn’t easy before Marcus took me into his home as one of his own,” he said. “My mother… let’s say she did not have the most savory of careers. I was apprenticing already, but it was difficult while simultaneously watching my sister. There was little time for education or any sense of a childhood. When she died…”

His eyes were heavy as well as his brow. A crease formed in his tan skin, and she wanted to reach out a thumb. To smooth over it and let his skin release its stress. She hadn’t realized until she began to spend more time with him how weighed down he always was. His shoulders were slumped and his chest hung low and he hid it well with his snark, but Bellamy was  _ tired.  _

“It was a relief,” he admitted. She could see the pain of him saying those words, but also the satisfaction, the release of a secret. “Marcus is not mine or Octavia’s biological father, but he has some relation to her father. He’s never told me, and I’ve never bothered to ask. It was simply a gift that I am not certain I deserved.”

He was so kind and so giving, Clarke realized. She wasn’t sure how she had spent so long thinking he was merely selfish, but it was entirely too long. People were so multi-faceted, and that had been her mistake to continually keep seeing them as the first side she was faced with. 

“Bell– Mr. Blake,” she corrected, catching herself. Her fingers tingled, and she tentatively reached her pointer finger out. It was a breath away from the delicate skin of his wrist, and for a beat she contemplated reaching her hand out to wrap around it. The moment was weighted, and she pulled the hand back to her own lap. “I think you deserve more than you let yourself believe.”

His eyes were trained away from her, and the air around them shifted. This was new territory for them. This almost felt  _ dangerous.  _ He met her gaze, swallowing thickly. 

“You can call me, Bellamy,” he said cautiously. 

Clarke bit her lip to hide her smile. “You can call me Clarke, if you like.”

His lips twisted up, surprised by the moment. Sometimes, when Clarke watched him, her heart clenched at the way he seemed so surprised by moments of happiness. Like he almost didn’t deserve them. So  _ tired _ , she reminded herself again. 

He nodded. “I would.”

* * *

**then**

Clarke was startled to realize the man she had promised herself to marry had never met one of her best friends. The opportunity had never much arose, seeing as Raven and Roan’s schedules of socialization were greatly opposing. 

The study was filled to the brim with bodies, even with some men leaving who had went off to smoke in another room. There was Monty and Jasper, conversing in a corner, and Clarke watched her mother speak with Wells near the chairs. 

Roan sat on her left, close enough to be comforting but far enough away to retain formality. When Raven finally entered after being held back in a conversation with Thelonious, she waved her over. 

“It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Mr. Azgeda,” she said. “I am surprised it has taken us this long to properly meet, all things considered.” 

His smile spread slowly, into something on the border of flirtatious. Clarke wasn’t sure if she was seeing things or the truth. She wasn’t sure what the clench in her gut meant.

“What a shame that is, Miss Reyes. Any friend of Miss Griffin will certainly have the sort of intellect and charm worth getting to know.” 

It only took a few sentences for Clarke to notice the familiarity they fell into with ease, the way their sentences flung back and forth like a game of tennis. There had been a string of gasoline slithering around their feet all night, and having them speak finally lit it up into flames. She had thought maybe the looks they were giving each other had been all in her head, but there was no way to deny  _ this.  _

“Do you really think her literature so controversial?” Raven questioned. Clarke had barely kept up with their conversation, mostly because she had felt so flighty and distracted. “It seems a bold claim.”

“You seem to like bold claims,” he teased. She blushed, ducking her head before looking back up and challenging his gaze. 

This was the man she was about to marry, Clarke thought, and she sat on the side like an unwanted appendage. Her mind wandered, allowing herself to contemplate a connection like that. Instantaneous. Burning. Something that felt capable of lasting the test of time due to passion and not simple acceptance. 

It had seemed so practical and right when the two of them decided to marry, but she watched Raven and Roan talk and she knew now how juvenile the decision had been. 

Roan’s face split into two, a laugh fluttering from his lips as Raven laughed along. Clarke didn’t love him, but she couldn’t deny that it hurt. She couldn’t deny that she  _ wanted.  _

* * *

**now**

Bellamy seemed a bit distracted today as they walked around her expansive gardens, eyeing the blooming flowers with a lazy gaze. 

“The ball next week should be quite… extensive,” Clarke tried. Her mother had been planning it with Thelonious for some time, and as the ball drew closer she only grew more energetic in her plans. The two of them had been listless for too long, and having winter melt away beautifully into spring seemed to inspire them. 

“It will be quite the affair,” he agreed. “You’ll get to see some of your friends you haven’t seen in awhile, yes?”   


Clarke paused, eyeing his ramrod straight back and his clenched fists. “Is there something I should be worried about, Bellamy? You seem unnecessarily formal today. If something is weighing on your mind, you have only to speak it.”

“Can we sit?” he asked, and she nodded. The two of them walked over the nearby stone bench, seated between two large rose bushes. The smell wafted over them, sweet and pungent. “I have never wanted to push, but lately I cannot help but wonder…”

He didn’t need to finish it for Clarke to know what he was hinting at. The big question that hung around them always, even when she couldn’t sense that he was that curious about it. It was inevitable that they would discuss it at some point. 

“Me and Roan,” she said. 

He nodded and shot her a guilty look. It was clear he hadn’t wanted to make her uncomfortable, but she understood the desire to know. “I haven’t been able to keep myself from wondering…”

“What happened?” she finished for him. 

His eyes met hers, and they felt connected for a moment. The breath felt sucked from her lungs. “Whether you loved him,” he corrected. 

It was too much to keep staring at his big, expansive eyes. When she looked at them she felt like she could see everything about Bellamy. His curiosity and hunger for knowledge. His loyalty and sense of duty. The warmth of him.

“We were friends,” she explained. “I have never really been in love, not the way some people are lucky enough to experience. I was getting undeniably older, and most of the prospects I had… well, they were  _ dull.  _ Or offensive. Rude or close-minded. No one I could imagine spending the rest of my life with, no matter how much money or notability they had.”

“Roan had quite a lot of money and notability,” he said. 

Clarke nodded. He hadn’t meant for the words to sound accusatory or offensive. She could see the point he was trying to make, about who he was. About the match she could have had, and the weight of what she lost. 

“He did, and I liked him. Roan was a man ahead of his time in the same way you are, not expecting women to fit into a confining box. He understood the benefits of marriage between us. We would be happy if we married one another, and though we did not love, friendship is not something to be so easily thrown away. There are not nearly enough marriages based on friendship, even less on love.”

“You left him, though,” he said. “I mean, that’s what I heard. If he offered you all of that, something you wouldn’t be able to find anywhere else, then why? Why not accept that life and move forward with it?” 

His eyes were so open and curious. He darted his tongue over his lips, wetting them to a deeper pink. She was a puzzle he couldn’t seem to put together. All he wanted was to slip the final pieces into place so the whole image finally came into view. 

“He fell in love,” she said. “I couldn’t…” Clarke was so tired of being restrained—hair pulled back, dress pulled in, say this and  _ never  _ say that. She had spent so much of her life attempting to rebel against the expectations, but she still felt painfully constricted. “So few people get love, Bellamy. I couldn’t take that from him, not from Raven, just because it was hard for me. He would have stayed if I never asked to break off the engagement—he had honor—but I could not live with myself if I had.”

Bellamy puffed up with the response, almost with something like pride. “You let him go.” 

“It wasn’t really that hard,” she whispered, the moment tense. “I cannot deny that I held the littlest bit of jealousy, but… not at them, just at the feeling itself.”

“And now you are here,” he said. 

She nodded. They felt closer together than they had been when they sat, and Clarke wasn’t sure if it was an illusion or they really had scooted nearer. He released a puff of breath, and it washed over her face. Sweet and light. 

“You have never been in love?” he asked again. His hand reached over to the difficult stretch of hair that was always falling into her face to push it back. 

Clarke tried to remain composed, but her face fell into the touch. Her eyes fluttered shut, and he must have noticed because his fingers stayed in place for a few extra seconds. This was more personal than her and Roan had ever been, she realized. This was closer than she had ever let herself to another person. 

“No,” she breathed out, opening her eyes. His gaze averted from her lips to scan over her face, his hand dropping back to his side. 

_ No _ , she thought,  _ but I’ve never been this close before.  _

* * *

**then**

The room was painfully silent. Air thick with tension, of emotions Clarke couldn’t even seem to reach the bottom of. Raven sat at the piano though she didn’t play. Her eyes were trained on the ivory, and her fingers slipped over the keys without pushing. 

“I want you to be happy,” Clarke said as she approached. She sat down next to her, fingering the keys herself before playing a simple cord. The sound reverberated around the room, seeming to break some of the heat. 

It took Raven a moment to look up and smile at her. “I  _ am  _ happy. I want you to be happy, too. You are so lucky, to find someone so well-suited for you.”

“Roan and I broke our engagement,” she blurted. 

Raven’s mouth gaped. “Excuse me? When- How did…  _ Why _ ?”

“You loved him,” Clarke said delicately. The words felt like a precious gem, beautiful and rare. “And he loves you. I cannot live with myself knowing I have torn love from two people I care about, no matter the damage it may do to my own life.”

A tear dripped from Raven’s eye, and Clarke leaned forward to grasp her face in her hands. Raven grasped her friend’s hands tightly within her own, pulling them to her lips to kiss their palms. “I do not deserve you, Clarke.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “No, I do not deserve you. This is a small thing compared to all you have done for me through your friendship, your love. I could not live without you, and knowing I was living in a way that killed your joy would have killed my own.”

“Thank you.” It was breathy and thankful and it constricted Clarke’s heart.

“No,” Clarke said, yanking her into a hug. “Thank you for showing me what a love worth living for is worth.”

* * *

**now**

The book sat open on Clarke’s lap, though she couldn’t bring herself to read the words. Her mind was too much of an inescapable mess with thoughts hitting her from every angle. 

“Clarke, there you are.” Her mother caught her breath for a minute before continuing onward and plunging into the room. “We will have to get you ready for the ball tonight. The dress is laid out, and Harper will come up to do your hair and makeup.”

The book clacked shut, and she went to replace it in the bookshelf. It wasn’t like she had absorbed a single word of it anyway. 

“You seem in a daze,” her mother said. Abby stuffed hair behind her ear, eyebrows furrowed. “Are you feeling alright?” 

“There is no need to worry,” Clarke reassured her. “I simply have a lot on my mind, that’s all.” 

Abby seemed nervous all of a sudden, rifling at the folds of her skirt. “Have you been thinking more on the possibility of an engagement to Bellamy Blake?”

Clarke took a moment to suck in a deep breath and release it before continuing. “I have. I think I would agree to it.”

Her mother nodded, not meeting her gaze. “And that will make you happy?”   


Confusion settled over her bones like a heavy blanket. It was a twist of conversation she had not expected from her mother, and the unfamiliarity of it set her off kilter. “I think I will be happy with Mr. Blake.”

“I do want you to be happy,” she said. Her eyes were tender when she looked at Clarke, like she knew what lay beneath all the layers both of them had spent years painting over. “I know it seems as if I am trying to sell you off, but that was never my intention. In another world… I want so much for you.”

“I have never doubted it,” Clarke said. She felt the certainty of that in her gut, building her stronger. Her mother was just playing the cards she had been dealt, hoping the hand for the next generation would be a little better. The cycle continuing until women could get what they fully deserved. 

She shuffled, uncomfortable with the intimacy. “Well, you shouldn’t keep Harper waiting.”

Clarke passed by Abby, stopping to give her a kiss on the cheek, before continuing out the door. 

* * *

Dressing up was fine, and she enjoyed it, but it didn’t give her the thrill she knew it gave some girls. Even when she knew she looked beautiful, she could never stop thinking about the bite of the corset and the impracticality of white gloves.

That being said, she loved her dress for the Jaha’s ball. It was a soft blue with delicate ruffles. Her hair had been pulled loosely back with perfectly coiled curls, and around her neck hung several shining jewels. She felt delicate and beautiful, and she felt a jitter of excitement in her chest at the thought of Bellamy seeing her like this. 

The ball was an ethereal, bustling thing. The Jaha’s ballroom was large and open, and the acoustics of the space made it feel like music was spilling around them. She had only been in the room for ten or so minutes, still searching the space for Wells, when a squeal pierced the air and a pair of arms circled around her waist. 

Clarke whipped around, surprise evident on her features. “Raven,” she said. It was more of a gasp than anything else. 

Roan stood sturdily behind her, a comforting hand on the small of her back. They looked light, weightless, incredibly  _ happy.  _ The feeling of having done the exact right thing rushed through Clarke. She had been able to help them make this happen. 

“I wasn’t sure if you two would be attending this evening,” Clarke said through a smile. She reached out a hand to Roan, squeezing it briefly before letting it drop. Neither of them needed rumors to spread of a love still kindled when nothing could be further from the truth. 

“We would not miss it for the world,” she said. “I have missed my friends too deeply. You must come visit us in the North when you have time. You would love the landscape, and Roan’s library is unparalleled.”

She smiled. “I would love to see it all.”

It was strange, how much Clarke’s body seemed to react to simply having Bellamy near. She could physically sense it. He came from behind, dipping his head in greeting. The others responded. 

“Mr. Blake,” Clarke said, “certainly you must remember Mr. Azgeda and Miss Reyes.”

He nodded, giving a smile in greeting. “We have crossed paths before.”

Raven’s eyes darted between the two, trying to read what was happening between the two of them. Last she had heard was a letter Clarke sent close to when the whole engagement idea had been brought to her attention. She had not been updated on the developments in their relationship. 

Mostly, because Clarke wasn’t entirely sure how to explain it. 

“May I ask you for a dance, Miss Griffin?”   


Clarke smiled, nodding and taking his offered arm to lead her to the dance floor. They both said a quick goodbye to Roan and Raven, the latter sending a furtive glance in Clarke’s direction she knew she would have to address later. 

“I have to admit,” he whispered as they took their spots, “that I am not much of a dancer.”

Clarke didn’t have a chance to respond before the set was beginning. Despite what Bellamy had said, he moved well with the music. He had always had a confidence in himself, at least outwardly, that translated well to dancing. He stepped forward, backward, dosey doeing without ever breaking eye contact. 

And the gaze they shared was electrified. Clarke had never been this aware of her whole body before. Every movement and look shared with another person. She had hated this person, she thought, and yet now she couldn’t even imagine the depths of frustration she had once felt for him. It was too far in the past. 

“You look beautiful,” he said. His eyes trailed in a way that made Clarke believe the forcefulness of the claim. 

“Thank you,” she said. “I know.”

The left side of his lip quirked up, and his eyes brightened, unquestionably fond. “You might be too smart for your own good. Certainly, too quick.”

Clarke smiled. “You will just have to learn to keep up, I suppose.”   


The set ended, and the room clapped. Bellamy stepped closer, his hand hovering over her upper arm. “Would you like to get some fresh air?”

There was an intensity to his words that left her mute. Her head bobbed up and down, and she let herself get guided out of the room. The light from the house spread its elongated fingers onto the lawn, but the green was rich with the dull light from the moon. Bellamy led the way down the path. When they hit the first pond, he halted. 

“Clarke, I have been wanting to ask you something.” He shuffled and reached out a hand to grasp onto one of her own. “I know we were unsure of what a match between us would be like. Hell, I certainly wasn’t interested when it was first brought up, but after getting to know you… I think I would be hard-pressed to find someone I would like better to spend the rest of my life with. If you would have me, that is.” 

The elation bubbled up in her chest, forming in her throat. 

“Clarke!” Raven yelled, running from somewhere in the gardens further down. She appeared, huffy and indignant. “Did he just propose to you?” 

A mixture of emotions Clarke couldn’t even begin to sort through hit her—frustration, confusion, a sense that the world was about to shatter around her. Something hopeful persisted through, blooming in her abdomen. 

“Raven, this isn’t the time–”

Raven’s eyes flashed to his, and he was taken aback by the hostility he found there. She was staring him down intently, spitting fire, before turning back to Clarke and cutting her off. “He’s already promised to someone else.”

Her jaw fell open and hung for a moment before she snapped it shut, reopening and closing it a few times as she searched for the words. Bellamy looked guilty, that familiar weight settled back into his bones. It pointed to a confirmation she didn’t even want to hear a word of. 

“Is this true? How can– you just  _ proposed _ to  _ me. _ ” None of the facts seemed to line up. A breeze hit her from the side, and goosebumps popped up on her flesh. 

“Clarke, I can explain–”

“I don’t want an explanation.” The words were harsh slaps, and he recoiled. “I want the truth. It’s not a hard question, Bellamy. Are you promised to someone else, or not?”

He froze, and it seemed to strain him to reply. His jaw clenched, and his hands formed into fists. A beat sat between them, and she stepped back with the shock of his non-answer. How foolish she had been to think happiness stood right there ripe for the taking. 

“I am afraid I will have to decline your proposal, Mr. Blake.” She wanted the words to sound angrier, but they came out watery and pathetic. Clarke could already feel the prickling behind her eyes. “Goodnight.”

“Clarke, don’t do this, please _.  _ I promise I can explain.  _ Please. _ ” 

She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t see the pleading look she knew he was giving her. It would hurt too much, and Raven grabbed onto her upper arm to drag her away, make sure she didn’t turn. This was what a real broken heart felt like, she realized. This was what happened when love fell apart. 

_ Love.  _ It hit her like a comet, lighting her afire and taking all the wind out from her. 

“I will get you out of here,” Raven said. Her hands were sturdy on Clarke, and she was grateful to help someone keep her upright. Raven guided her back through the hall quickly, taking her up a flight of stairs until they were locked into the privacy of the library. “We’re safe. No one can enter.”

That was all it took for Clarke to shatter, and suddenly the awareness of how restricted her body was came flooding back. Her breaths were ragged, rough,  _ harsh.  _ It seemed like she couldn’t suck enough air in to keep her solid, and her hands clawed at her dress on their own accord. 

“I can’t– I  _ can’t _ —” 

“Clarke,” Raven said, suddenly in front of her. “Tell me what to do. What do you need?” 

“I can’t  _ breathe. _ ” Her hands clawed at the necklace and tore it off, tossing it to the floor. She wanted to undo her corset, to feel the release of her breath, but there were too many layers of fabric. It was too difficult. She settled for unleashing her hair, the blonde tresses loose around her shoulders. 

“Is that better? Maybe you should sit.” Raven helped her to the couch, where Clarke fell into the cushions. 

“I wish I had never felt anything for him at all,” Clarke said.  _ I wish I still didn’t feel everything even though I hate him. I wish I didn’t still love him despite it all.  _

Raven brought Clarke to her chest, rubbing a comforting hand over her hair. She whispered placating words, but they were lost to the room. Lost to the air. All Clarke could understand was the ache in her chest and the broken compass of her heart. 

* * *

The letter came only a half of a week or so later, but Clarke couldn’t look at it. Not at first. Raven and Roan stayed in town for a few extra days with talk of missing the area and friends, though Clarke assumed it had more to do with her lackluster attitude and her broken heart.

It was kind, even if it was a little difficult to bear their company at times. 

Once they left, it became clear Raven must have warned Wells because him and Maya became a constant distraction. It was another week until Clarke could seem to get rid of them. 

Then it was just herself and her solitude. She hadn’t realized she had started contemplating a future for herself until it was ripped away. 

Worst of all, she missed Bellamy. Terribly. 

* * *

_ My Dearest Clarke, _

_ I know what you learned at the party must appear like a betrayal of the largest degree, and I understand why you have shielded yourself from me since then. However, I could not live with myself if I did not try to explain.  _

_ I promised engagement to a woman once. Gina Martin. She was from town, someone I knew in my youth and still see at times. She is smart and kind, but that is besides the point. I asked you if you had ever been in love, once, but you never asked me.  _

_ The truth is, I had thought I was. Gina was simple, real, and the two of us understood each other. Poor backgrounds and hard circumstances. When my life shifted so drastically, I knew there was never a future in which the two of us were to get together, but we pretended there might be. When a young officer with a bad reputation, someone known for unimaginable abuse and cruelty, came forward to propose to her, she felt pressured and unable to turn him away.  _

_ I proposed as a way to keep her safe, and until now we have continued the ruse for her safety. We were never going to get married, Clarke, but I said I would to protect her for the time being. He has finally left, and now she is safe.  _

_ There was a time I thought what I felt for Gina was love, but now that I have met you, Clarke, it is clear to me that love is bigger than what I felt then. Only something as all-encompassing, full, and fulfilling as what I feel for you could possibly be the truth of love.  _

_ I cannot deny, however, how your inability to listen, your quick judgement, and your lack of trust hurt me. I understand where they came from, yet they felt like a slice to my skin. This is not to place blame on you, I understand what I have done, but I need time to reorganize the pieces of my life.  _

_ I hope this letter has found you in good health. I hope you understand now.  _

_ With all my love,  _

_ Bellamy Blake _

* * *

“I was wrong.” The plate of toast and eggs sat untouched in front of Clarke. Her stomach tightened at the thought of putting it to her lips. “So wrong.”

“About what?” Abby asked as she rifled through the newspaper. 

“I misjudged him,” she said. Her voice flicked into a wobble at the end, and it struck Abby enough for her to set the paper down. “I think I may have broken one of the only things I have ever had worth having.” 

“You love him?” Abby asked. Her eyes lit up with something Clarke couldn’t read. She thought it might have been joy, but it felt wilder than that. “Mr. Blake?”

She released a breath. “Irrevocably.” 

“I loved your father that way,” Abby said. “You have asked me before if I have ever wanted more, and I have. This life does not have everything I have ever wanted, but it did have love. It had him. There is nothing worth trading true love for in a world as harsh as ours.” 

Clarke reached up to wipe away a traitorous tear. “What do I do?” 

“It is not past fixing. If anyone can fix something, it is my darling, unstoppable daughter.” The facade cracked again, revealing the picture of her mother Clarke was so unused to seeing. 

“Thank you.”

Abby waved her off, already picking up the paper again. “There is nothing to thank. All I ask is that you do not throw your chance at love away. It is so rare and so unbelievably precious.”

* * *

Maya made a beautiful bride. The white dress against her dark hair looked angelic, and the smile that tore across her face was heartwarming. Even Clarke, who had been living like a ghost, was unable to keep the scowl on her face.

Of course, he was there. The first time seeing him was like a jolt to her heart. She had been only seeing black and white and now she was thrust back into the world of color. His hair was mussed, the trail of freckles as strong as ever. 

Clarke stepped forward to hug Wells before they got into the carriage that would carry the two of them away. “I love you,” she whispered into his shoulder. “Be the happiest.” 

Wells pulled back, smiling hugely and patting her cheek. “My friend,  _ you  _ be the happiest.”

He reached over to Maya and grabbed her hand before they climbed in and the carriage rode off. Maya turned around, waving over her shoulder with a childlike fervor. Before they turned the corner, she caught a glimpse of them cuddling into one another. And then they were gone. 

The leftover patrons began to scatter or converse, and it seemed like the crowd opened to give her and Bellamy a path. 

“Mr. Blake,” she said. The words felt small coming out of her mouth. 

“Miss Griffin.” The formality of it killed her. 

“I got your letter.” Those four words made everything around them tense up. “I feel nothing but apology. I wish I could make it up to you, but I fear it may be impossible.” 

“Nothing is impossible,” he said. His eyes shot down to the ground before looking back up, searching her out through the cover of his eyelashes. “I have apologies to make, too. I cannot preach honesty and then turn around to mock those words. Never should I have kept the truth from you in the first place.”

She shrugged. “You are a dog with a tail between its legs. I don’t much like it.”

Bellamy laughed, and for all the time the two of them had spent together, she could barely remember seeing him ever that unhinged. It was carefree, and the crinkles at the corner of his eyes gave her hope. 

Abby appeared to her right, a comforting hand on her upper arm. “The carriage is waiting, dear. We must get home before the sun sets.” 

“I will meet you there in a moment,” she assured her. Her mother left, and Clarke turned back to Bellamy. She wish she could touch him, break the space between them with a hand, but it was inappropriate. Even if it wasn’t, she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to. “I hope to see you very soon?” 

He nodded. “I would like that.”

It was better than she could have expected, but it still felt like taking steps backward. They had to start the game over, reset the chessboard. Clarke wanted to jump back into the comfort she was used to, but it seemed to be gone. At the very least hidden away somewhere currently untouchable. 

She hoped someday she could get it back. 

* * *

After getting home and preparing for bed, it seemed impossible to sleep. The candle burned out, and yet the release of sleep did not come. Her heart continued to beat too quickly, her eyes tired but searching in the darkness.

The moon was still high when Clarke got dressed for the day, and she sat at her chair as she waited for the sun to rise. By the time the rooster was alerting them all to the time, she had slipped into her shoes and exited the front door. 

The servant was surprised to find Clarke at the Kane residence so early in the morning, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she set her up in the study and told her to wait. The time that passed felt drawn out like taffy, pulled and yanked and never ending. 

When Bellamy finally entered, Clarke hopped to her feet. 

“Miss Griffin–”

“Clarke,” she corrected, reminded. 

“Clarke,” he repeated. 

She stepped forward, foregoing all hopes of social convention. He was a foot away, close enough she had to tilt her head up slightly. They had rarely been this close before, and it seemed to amplify their physical connection. 

“Please, ask me to marry you again,” she said. “You must know I do not beg, but for that I would.”

He paused, shuffling closer still. “I cannot,” he said. “Not yet.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow, the confusion settling in. Then Bellamy cupped her cheek, looked into her eyes, and bent forward. The space between them disappeared with the blink of an eye. 

His lips were soft and warm, and having him finally come into such vulnerable contact with her felt like opening a floodgate. Suddenly everything she felt came pouring out, and she wondered how she had ever thought she could live without this feeling. Without his hand on her cheek and his body pressed against hers. Without the heat of love and lust coursing through her. 

“Will you marry me, Clarke Griffin?” The words were breathless, but so was Clarke. 

“Yes,” she said. She grabbed onto his face, stepping up onto her toes to press another peck against his lips. “In any universe, in any world,  _ yes. _ ”

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on tumblr: [clarkescrusade](http://clarkescrusade.tumblr.com/)


End file.
